Twisted River by Siobhan MacDonald Read Free Book Online

applied to Hazel and Oscar.
    Leaning over the marble bowl, she edged closer to the mirror.Blood bursts flecked her eye white, and the eyelid had swollen a mix of red and purple. The whole of her left eye socket was swollen, giving it a reptilian quality. Raising her fringe, she saw how the jagged gash his ring had made was crusting over. The fringe hid that, at least.
    Brushing her teeth was agony, her jaw still aching and bruised from where she’d hit the wall. She opened her mouth as wide as she could and moved her jaw from side to side. It felt stiff. Even her neck felt sore as she bent to spit the spearmint saliva from her mouth. As she straightened up, a shadow fell across the room.
    â€œOscar.”
    She wasn’t sure if she’d mouthed it or said it. His tall, wiry frame filled the doorway. The way things had been left, she wasn’t sure if he was still mad.
    â€œHazel . . .” He looked at her face, shaking his head. “Let me hug you, my poor, poor Hazel.”
    She had her answer. He wasn’t mad anymore.
As she stood immobile, Oscar moved behind her, circled her waist, and dropped his head into the crook of her neck—a gesture of submission. Her nostrils filled with the smell of him, the musk of his gray-white hair, his slept-in T-shirt, and the faint odor of stale coffee.
    â€œWhat has become of us?” he asked of their reflections in the mirror.
    â€œDon’t,” she whispered, worried at the emotion that threatened to well up.
    â€œPlease, Oscar, don’t.” She bit her lip.
    Releasing her, he took a step back.
    â€œYou’re not going in today, Hazel? Are you? Tell me you’re not going in.” There was an edge to his voice.
    But she had to do this. No matter what he said. She just had to.
    â€œI must,” she said quietly, examining her palette of eye shadow. Should she accentuate the purple or mask it?
    â€œYou can’t go into a classroom looking like . . . like . . .” He faltered.
    Funny that underneath it all, Oscar was conservative, cared what people thought. Something to do with his Anglo-Saxon heritage, perhaps?
    â€œAnd you think I’m going to look so very different to the students I try to teach, do you?” she ventured—more bravely now. Taking the job at the Impact School, she knew she was heading for a challenging environment. But sometimes she just felt like an extra on the set of a war movie.
    â€œI really don’t get why you’re being this stubborn, Hazel.” His voice was firm, in control again.
    She was beginning to wonder herself. She’d always thought of her stubbornness as a virtue, but it was looking increasingly likely it could as easily be her undoing. Hazel was always loath to admit defeat. She wanted to make things work. To turn things around. But she didn’t want to argue again, to push him again. What Oscar wanted was for her to get a publishing job like she’d had before, to work in Manhattan and not trek off into “that ghetto” every day.
    â€œAre you going to answer me?”
    His arms still circled her, his breath hot against her neck. There was a tenderness now but underneath she sensed that lurking anger. She was trapped.
    â€œMom . . . my cell—have you seen it?”
    Elliot shuffled into the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Hazel heaved an inward sigh of relief. Oscar was careful never to argue in front of the kids. Defeated now, he let her go and swung around to ruffle his son’s pale blond hair, blocking Hazel from Elliot’s view—as if he couldn’t stomach his child seeing her like this.
    â€œGood morning, sleepy head!” He mussed up Elliot’s pageboy hair. But that didn’t distract Elliot.
    â€œHoly cow! Mom! What happened?”
Elliot was perfectly awake now, eyes darting from Hazel to Oscar, looking for an explanation. Oscar opened his mouth to make an excuse but Hazel